


the river holds the lost road of the sky

by peppermintcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10.20 coda, Dean/Cas if you squint, Gen, spontaneous two a.m. family roadtrips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintcas/pseuds/peppermintcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You wanna go for a drive?" </p><p>She snorts, but it’s half-hearted; she’s already pushing back the covers, careful not to disturb Sam. “It’s two in the morning,” she says incredulously. She pushes back her hair from her face, leans down to shove her socked feet into her Converse and laces them up tight. “Do you do this a lot? Go on spontaneous roadtrips?”</p><p>Dean laughs. “Nah,” he says. “But I know a good sight-seeing place, like, ten minutes from here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the river holds the lost road of the sky

The night her mother dies, Claire wakes up screaming. 

Her eyes snap open; there is a cry clawing at her throat, and the smell of blood hangs heavy around her. She scrambles to sit up, to lean against the headboard and breathe: there is no coppery tang of blood and no smell of burning flesh in the musty motel room, but her mind tells her otherwise, and she sits there, shaking, breathing, until the nightmare passes. Her dreams are filled with blood and searing light, the heft of the sword in her hand. She can still feel her mother's blood running down her wrists. She doesn't think about the fact that she's killed a man— _no_. She killed a monster, she tells herself, fervently. She killed a monster. 

It's terrifying. She hasn't had a dream this bad in— _years_.

There's a similar shuffle on the other bed, where Dean and Cas are sharing, and then Dean sits bolt upright, panting, his fists clenched. As she watches, he draws his knees up to his chest and drops his head into his hands, scrubbing a hand through his hair. When he sighs, he sounds exhausted. "I know you're awake," he says, into the dark.

Claire picks at the sheets, not meeting his eyes. "You're not the only one with nightmares."

Dean looks over at her. His joking façade's been stripped away in the night: the moonlight drifting over them both lights them up with silver haloes. 

"Your mom?" he asks.

And Claire knows, now—Dean understands. He still remembers his own mom. She can almost see the memories written in the dark circles, purpling under his eyes. 

"Yeah," Claire whispers, finally. She swallows and blinks back tears. "The Mark?" she tries, changing the subject.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Yeah," he says. He rubs at his left forearm, perhaps unconsciously, studying her for a second. Then he tosses back the covers. "C'mon," Dean says, swinging his legs out of bed.

"What?" Claire asks, confused. He throws her a ghost of his usual grin. 

"You wanna go for a drive?" 

She snorts, but it’s half-hearted; she’s already pushing back the covers, careful not to disturb Sam. “It’s two in the morning,” she says incredulously. She pushes back her hair from her face, leans down to shove her socked feet into her Converse and laces them up tight. “Do you do this a lot? Go on spontaneous roadtrips?”

Dean laughs. “Nah,” he says. “But I know a good sight-seeing place, like, ten minutes from here.” He shrugs on a black button down over his T-shirt and grabs his keys from the counter. “Might as well, right?”

“Might as well what?”

Claire freezes, but Dean shoots a smile her way and directs his attention to Cas, who’s sitting up in bed, his hair ruffled and his dress shirt wrinkled. “Insomniacs Anonymous,” Dean notes wryly. “Perfect. Claire and I are going sightseeing at Turkey Mountain Park. You in?”

“Sleeping is a human activity, anyway,” Cas replies. He gets out of bed. For once, Claire notes, he leaves the trenchcoat draped over the chair; he looks strangely human without it. “Should we leave a note for Sam?”

“Dude, it’s ten minutes away,” Dean says. He pockets the room card and opens the door carefully, making sure to keep quiet, holding it for them to pass. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

\--

Claire rides backseat; Cas takes shotgun, Dean drives. They’re a strange collection, and an even stranger family—God help her, that’s how she thinks of them now—but she thinks maybe they'll work, somehow. It’s been so long since she had a family; her mom was gone so fast last night that the few minutes that they had together weren’t nearly enough. She leans her head against the window and surreptitiously wipes the sleeve of her flannel under her eyes.

Dean and Cas are quiet, their hands laced tentatively together on the seat; she knows that Cas is glancing up in the rearview mirror at her every so often, but other than that, it’s silent, the early morning sleepiness still wound heavy around their bones. The birds are quiet, and the almost-full moon is out, and the breeze whispers softly around the Impala as she races down the road. All of them feel it: the blessed silence soaking into the night, the windows open and wind rushing through their hair.

Too soon, they’re pulling into a wide parking lot, a wooden sign declaring it TURKEY MT PARK, TULSA OK. They pull themselves out of the car, and Cas and Claire look to Dean.

“Are we allowed in the park at night?” Cas asks.

“Relax,” Dean says. “I worked a case here a little while ago. Ranger who works the night-shift knows me, and he won’t stop us.” He pauses to consider. “Well. Probably.”

 “We’re going into the park?” Claire asks.

 “We have to walk for a bit to get to the view,” he explains. He goes to the trunk and pulls out a box of granola bars, the healthy kind that hikers eat, and slips a couple into his pocket. “You want one?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says, and Dean tosses several towards her. “Cas?” he asks.

He shakes his head, and Dean shrugs, slamming the trunk. He leads the way into the woods.

It should be eerie, alone in the woods at night, but Claire can see the outline of a pistol tucked in the back of Dean’s jeans and she’s pretty sure Cas doesn’t go anywhere without his angel blade. They stick to an easy trail that winds upwards, knotted with roots and rocks. Dean eats three granola bars and tucks the wrappers back into his pockets. The moon is bright enough that they don’t need flashlights, but Claire still trips over the stones embedded in the path.

“Thanks,” she says, as Cas catches her arm for the fourth time.

“You’re welcome,” he says, hesitantly, and the two of them look at each other for a moment. Cas looks nervous, and he opens his mouth, closes it; and then, as if making up his mind about something, he speaks. “I—I’m sorry. About Amelia,” Cas says, and Claire bites her lip.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she answers. The words feel strange on her tongue; she’s been blaming Cas for so long that this feels like a revelation, like freedom. “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeats, letting the words roll out of her mouth, tasting them, testing their shape. It’s not as bad as she thought it would be, and she lets out a wet laugh, tears burning at her throat.

Castiel hugs her, tentatively, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She hugs him back. “Come on,” she says, wiping at her eyes. She takes a step back and tries for a smile. “Dean’s getting really far ahead.”

It’s a ten minute walk to the summit; Dean gets there before Cas and Claire, and he’s leaning up against the railing of a bridge when they reach him. The view really is nice. The ridge they’re on clears the tops of the trees, so they can see over them; in the distance, across a wide, glittering expanse of water, the lights of a few insomniacs wink from the town.

“Nothing like a spontaneous two a.m. roadtrip,” Dean says, favoring them both with a smile.

The river is calm, the waters ruffling with tiny little waves, reflecting the light of the moon; a warm breeze brushes past their ears. The trees sway with it, the branches rustling. Claire gazes at the river; closes her eyes, trying to commit the scene to memory. The gleaming river, slow and rolling and inevitable; the trees, bowing to the wind; Dean and Cas, lounging next to her, Dean’s arm slung around Cas’ hips. The stars are bright, the air is sweet—

“Thank you,” she says.

Dean looks at her with something like affection, and draws her into a hug. He hesitates—Claire can feel it—and then leans down, presses his lips to her hair. “You’re welcome,” he says.

They stay there for what seems like hours, watching the river roll by.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be just a Dean/Cas coda, but then, like. _Claire Novak_.
> 
> Also, the park in this fic is [real](http://www.turkeymtn.com/)! It does, in fact, have a view of the [Arkansas River](http://www.highgravitybrew.com/images/turkey_mountain_pic.jpg), though I may have taken some liberties with it.


End file.
